Barely Breathing
by greeneyes-blondequiffs
Summary: Blaine Anderson had slept with Eli C. But he hadn't wanted to. And it's killing him.


_"W-what are you doing?" His voice is broken, panicked, there's a cold feeling rising on his neck and he just needs get out of here. _

_Strong, rough hands – not like Kurt's, not like Kurt's gentle hands that would never hurt him – push forcefully at his chest, pressing his back onto the bed. _

_"Eli – no. I-I don't want this" he stammers, trying to push himself up on his elbows, but the other boy is straddling his thighs, holding him down. Oh God, Blaine feels sick. Blood is pulsing, roaring in his ears and there's a horrible fluttering, thumping feeling in his chest and he can feel the strawberries he let Eli feed him just ten minutes ago sitting heavily in his belly like a poison that's making him weak. _

_"Just relax, Blaine" Eli hums. "It's okay."_

_Oh God. Blaine wants to shriek, thrash, scream because there is nothing okay with this situation and he just wants it to stop. He whimpers as Eli pushes his shirt up, pressing a kiss to the tan expanse of skin that is revealed. _

_"So beautiful, Blaine" he murmurs in between kisses and nuzzles to his belly. "So sexy."_

_Only Kurt is supposed to say those things to him. They sound wrong coming from Eli's mouth. _

_"Stop, please stop" Blaine moans, but he feels so dizzy, so sick, that his feeble attempts to push Eli away probably seem more like stroking to the other boy. "I don't want to" Blaine whimpers. _

_"Going to make you feel so good" Eli promises, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down his thighs..._

Blaine Anderson let out a pained, strangled cry, sitting up straight in bed, sweat and tears mingling on his face. _It's okay, you're okay, he's not here now_ Blaine tried to reassure himself, breathing in deeply through his nose, trying to control himself. He squeezed his eyes closed, but that just served to make the dream – no the memory, because it had really happened - more vivid, intense and he emitted another involuntary wail of anguish.

He gasped horribly at the sudden knock on his door, innocently bundling himself up in his blankets as if they would somehow protect him.

"What the hell is with all that noise, Blaine? Your mother and I have to go to work soon and we don't need you interrupting our sleep" his father said sharply, not bothering to open Blaine's door to actually look at his distressed son.

Blaine took a deep breath, running a soothing hand through his unruly curls. "Sorry, Father" he said, trying to keep his voice even. "It won't happen again."

Blaine sighed when he heard his father's footsteps stride away and he rolled onto his side, tucking his knees into his chest.

_I was with someone Kurt. It didn't mean anything. It was just a hook up. It won't happen again. _

Blaine wanted to shriek and cry and scream in frustration and anguish and pain and just get out all the horrible feelings so he could go back to feeling like himself again. How he felt before all of this happened.

He had never wanted to have sex with Eli. He hadn't told Kurt this. Hadn't told anyone this. He hadn't mentioned that when he went over to Eli's house, all he really wanted was a cuddle and maybe some chaste kissing on his cheek and forehead, just to make him feel wanted and loved again. Blaine had been so lonely, had felt so empty and forgotten, that the thought of a warm hand on his shoulder, and the soft smile of a boy who found him attractive was just so inviting and wonderful that he couldn't resist.

But he couldn't say those words out loud. Firstly because it would enable people to see just how vulnerable he was, underneath his confident exterior. After the Sadie Hawkins dance, Blaine had vowed to never be weak again, and to him that meant adopting a persona, a dapper, gentlemanly, well-groomed appearance, that masked his sensitive nature. He only ever let his guard down around Kurt, and even then it didn't happen very often. But more importantly, he could never tell anyone, because he didn't want to reveal just how stupid and naive he had been, honestly expecting to go over to a boy who called him 'sexy' and walk away with just a hug.

_I should have known better,_ Blaine thought miserably, _what did I think was going to happen when he invited me into his room and motioned for me to sit on the bed? _

The numbers on his alarm clock slid to six am, and he gingerly crawled out of bed, grateful to see the first rays of sunlight sneaking in through the gap in his curtains. Dawn had come. He had survived another night. He winced as he walked into his en suite, turning on the cold tap, ignoring the hot one. He hadn't had a warm shower since _it _had happened. He didn't deserve one. Blaine huddled under the spray, gently running his hands over his body. He was still in pain, and he wondered vaguely if that was a bad thing, if maybe he wasn't going to heal on his own and he needed treatment. It never hurt when he was with Kurt. Kurt was always so gentle, prepared him properly, looked after him before, during, afterwards. He never felt like a _thing_ when was with Kurt. Just a treasured, beautiful person.

_I'll be fine_ Blaine told himself, trying not to look down so he wouldn't see the rivulets of pink running along his thighs, swirling on the floor of the shower. _My body just needs time to heal itself. _

He wondered if he would ever feel whole, normal again. It was as though there was a big empty space inside him, nestled somewhere above his belly button that ripped and frayed more every day. Some nights he would lie in bed, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his aching belly, sobbing desperately into his pillow, biting down into it so his parents wouldn't hear his cries. Other nights he curled up like this, pain, anguish, hurt flowing through him like a torrent, but the tears wouldn't come. Those nights were the worst. Crying made him feel a tiny bit better. It released some of the tension, gave him an outlet. Those nights where he could find any sort of release were the worst. On those nights, somewhere around three in the morning, Blaine wondered if he could even feel anything anymore.

When the water stopped looking pinkish, Blaine turned off the shower, gratefully wrapping a warm towel around his shoulders. He glanced at himself in the mirror – dark, sad eyes, yellowing bruises on his hips from where Eli had held him down – before quickly drying and dressing himself. Back in his room he checked his phone – still no calls or texts from Kurt – and performed his usual morning ritual. He didn't really believe that Kurt was going to return his calls, but he rang him every morning, even if all the good it did was allow him to hear Kurt's voice on his answering machine.

"K-Kurt, it's Blaine. P-please call me back. I just, I need to...please call me". He had to hang up then, because a lump was growing in his throat, pressing painfully against him and it wasn't long before he let out a guttural sob, collapsing into his desk chair, chest heaving and tears dripping down his face.

But why would Kurt call him? Blaine was damaged now, used by someone else. Once he had been so proud to just belong to Kurt. Only Kurt's soft gentle hands had touched him in the most intimate of places.

Touch was important to Blaine. It wasn't something that was readily handed out in the Anderson household and growing up he had been forced to work for every pat on the back, every hug, every time his mother would idly run her fingers through his curls. His family just didn't show their affection that way, which was a shame because physical contact was something that Blaine craved.

_Maybe that's why you crave it_, he thought, pressing his palms into his eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears, _because you've never had it. _

Blaine would cling to Kurt after sex. He would wrap his arms around Kurt's strong shoulders and bury his face into his chest and relish how Kurt would gather him up into his arms and stroke his back and tell him that he was beautiful.

Eli hadn't done that. After he had climaxed – Blaine hadn't come, wasn't even hard – he had simply dismounted Blaine's broken, exhausted body and strolled over to the door of his room, asking if Blaine wanted some water.

Blaine had started trying to do his homework when his mother's voice drifted upstairs. "Do you want breakfast, Blaine?"

"Not hungry" Blaine called back, biting down on his bottom lip, drawing blood, the coppery, salty taste filling his mouth, as he attempted to control his crying.

"But you didn't eat anything yesterday" his mother replied. Blaine could hear the frown in her voice. There was no hint of concern though. Just annoyance that she had cooked food and he didn't want to eat it, or maybe frustration that he was sick and she might actually have to do something about it.

"I'm fine." He wrapped his arms around his waist, squeezing tightly, as if trying to hold himself together. He couldn't eat. His belly and chest throbbed rhythmically, like they had been since Eli had pushed him onto his back and yanked his jeans down his thighs, and his head was hazy. He was too dizzy to stand: he knew better than to try. Every time he felt this way and assumed an upright position he promptly collapsed to the floor.

"It's the age" he heard his father mutter. "He's just a moody teenager, let him be."

Blaine let out a choked sob. If only what his father said was true. Blaine knew what he was going through was not normal, not healthy and certainly not okay. He needed help, he realised that. He had even tried to ask for it, he had told Sam he hadn't been eating or sleeping, had a rather embarrassing break down in front of Finn and Artie. He had even booked an appointment with Miss Pillsbury. He had run out when she slid him a pamphlet titled "So, you're a cheater?"

Yes, he Blaine Anderson was a cheater. He had gone over to another man's house, held his hand over the kitchen table, giggled while Eli fed him strawberries, then gone upstairs and... He couldn't think about what had actually happened in that room. Every time he tried to he just started shaking and crying until he was sick.

Blaine tried to return to his homework, but his eyes were drawn to a photo of him and Kurt, taken on Kurt's first official day as a student at Dalton Academy.

Blaine briefly wondered where that happy, confident boy that smiled at him from the photograph had gone. When did he turn into a crying, weak, sick mess? He covered his face with his hands as fresh tears began to fall. He knew what had happened to that boy.

When Eli had pushed his thighs part, and forced himself inside his body, the boy in the photograph had died.


End file.
